There is beauty in madness. There is divinity in chaos.
It's some stone silent hour of the night and darkness seeps like sand streams into my room. Like oily jet ink, like velvet, twilight basks the landscape in a dip dye of indigo, of shadow. I'm fascinated by the diamond encrusted speckles of wondrous distant stars, but more significantly, it's the backdrop of darkness that enraptures me. There flourishes malice in nightfall, a secretive mingle of silent thoughts and muted minds, of suppressed wrath and blackened ambitions. It's the core basis of opposing forces, of the fallen, that ignites my curiousity more than the gloried heroes of 'justice' and 'honour'.
Within the echelons of damnable creatures, exist a certain crave and determination that I admire. They fight so gallantly for a cause that they believe in. It is in the attack of their deeds, in their conviction and persistence that is so mesmerizing. They challenge balance, they challenge order; they challenge a conventional, perception of peace and harmony. It's wicked, fascinating -and more often than not rooted unto some heinous, scarred history that they were perhaps victimised upon. Mere consequences of destiny and twisted fate, spurned by sheer bad choices and judgement. Their ambition for vengeance, introduces all manners of reckless ploys that is unmatched by the defendants of truth and marvel. Granted, their eventual failure is inevitable, for the side of good is overpowering (and righteously so) but in their expected defeat as well I find comfort; in the warped sense of fulfilled prophecy. It's symbolic of a deck of slighted, fallen heroes whose malignant flaws are celebrated and amplified by their being, deviated knights of darkness.
It's some stone silent hour of the night and darkness seeps like sand streams into my room. Like oily jet ink, like velvet, twilight basks the landscape in a dip dye of indigo, of shadow. I'm fascinated by the diamond encrusted speckles of wondrous distant stars, but more significantly, it's the backdrop of darkness that enraptures me. There flourishes malice in nightfall, a secretive mingle of silent thoughts and muted minds, of suppressed wrath and blackened ambitions. It's the core basis of opposing forces, of the fallen, that ignites my curiousity more than the gloried heroes of 'justice' and 'honour'.
Within the echelons of damnable creatures, exist a certain crave and determination that I admire. They fight so gallantly for a cause that they believe in. It is in the attack of their deeds, in their conviction and persistence that is so mesmerizing. They challenge balance, they challenge order; they challenge a conventional, perception of peace and harmony. It's wicked, fascinating -and more often than not rooted unto some heinous, scarred history that they were perhaps victimised upon. Mere consequences of destiny and twisted fate, spurned by sheer bad choices and judgement. Their ambition for vengeance, introduces all manners of reckless ploys that is unmatched by the defendants of truth and marvel. Granted, their eventual failure is inevitable, for the side of good is overpowering (and righteously so) but in their expected defeat as well I find comfort; in the warped sense of fulfilled prophecy. It's symbolic of a deck of slighted, fallen heroes whose malignant flaws are celebrated and amplified by their being, deviated knights of darkness.
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